Jump Cut, a rent fanfic

"Jump Cut"

Pairing: Roger/April, Mark/April, the smallest of hints towards Mark/Roger
Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama
Summary: She wanted to get out before it got worse. But even after cutting him out of her life he manages to bleed through. (This is AU, as April leaves Roger before HIV hits their lives.)
Warnings: Language, mentioned drug use, ansgtyness. :p
Disclaimer: I don't own RENT, or the characters.

Notes: Written for allfireburns in the third rentficathon. :)

- - - - - - - - - -

"So, this is the end. That's how it is?" Roger's voice was dull. His eyes were trained on something in the vicinity of the window and in direct, gleaming contrast to the tone of his voice. Even as he was obviously upset and unseeing, those eyes glittered.

April sat on the couch, body bent over and forearms pressed to her thighs as she clasped her hands together tightly. She couldn't look at him. "It's up to you."

Staring only at her knees, it was too easy to slip into memory, seeing images from the past instead of the pain in front of her, even if it all was so inextricably linked. Roger clumsily tossing a bottle in the air, trying to convince her he wasn't quite as pathetic a bartender as she made him out to be. Breaking it, looking devastated before glancing up at her and breaking into laughter. He'd listened to her, after that. When they gave each other another chance.

She could hear Roger making a sharp, angry noise - but in the next moment he was crouching before her, placing his hands on hers, sparkling eyes panicked. It was impossible to not look at him. It took all she had to look away.

"No - no, it doesn't have to be that way. It's not that big of a deal, it's not - "

Billy had stopped her that night, coming into work, and told her she had a new guy to train, and she'd been pissed. She was way past due for a raise and as far as she could remember, training idiots just out of high school was not in her job description. She did it every time, but the more times she did it without any payback the more she resented whoever it was who ended up at her mercy.

It was worse when they were good-looking. It meant that they were either some cocky rock star wannabe or some little prick who thought the world owed them all existence on a golden fucking platter. So when she'd walked into the back and saw the kid sitting hunched over in one of the chairs, and then jumping up and smiling when he saw her, she'd subtly rolled her eyes to herself.

Oh, yeah. This guy was gonna give her trouble.

April laughed bitterly. "It just shows how fucked up you really are that you can say that with a straight face." Roger rocked back on his heels, looking hurt but keeping his hands on hers. She didn't have the strength to pull away.

They sat in silence a moment, staring at each other, and April was almost at her breaking point when Mark walked in from his room. He froze when he saw her, and she felt a small sense of relief. At least she wasn't completely alone in this.

"Mark," she pleaded. "Tell him he has to stop."

Mark stared at her a moment before continuing through the loft, striding behind the couch and eventually settling against the wall on the other side of the room. He looked like he wished he could push his back right through it. April watched, waiting. Finally Mark sighed, speaking in low, measured tones.

"I've told him." He gave her a piercing look, sharp enough to make his next words unnecessary. "He doesn't want to hear it."

April looked down at her tiny hands covered with Roger's. He'd followed her out to the bar, almost pathetic in his forced cockiness. She'd quizzed him on drinks and, surprise, he knew nothing. He insisted he could stunt and broke a bottle. She couldn't help but laugh with him. Then April had rummaged underneath the bar, pulling out a sheaf of papers sticking out messily from a bright yellow duotang.

"A cheat sheet," she explained, seeing his tense, questioning look. What, did he think she was going to give him a written exam? "Study these, try to know how to make them." She felt her lips thinning. "I'm sure it won't even matter if you fuck up - Billy obviously didn't hire you for your abilities."

"Thanks," he said sourly, grabbing the duotang and staring at her. Suddenly he straightened. "Do you have a problem with me or something?"

His whole body was tense and defiant, but he didn't quite meet her eyes. April sighed.

"No," she said, turning and grabbing a rag, starting to wipe down the counter and bottles for something to do. "I just get tired of training person after person Billy hires just because they're going to draw a crowd."

Suddenly he grinned crookedly. "What?"

She stopped wiping, turning to him and putting a hand on her hip. "Girls," she clarified, almost keeping the little edge of tension out of her voice. "Guys like you get hired so girls are more likely to come back and buy more to be near your sex-godliness."

April had expected the guy to laugh, or smirk, but his face had hardened, anger emanating from him. She almost took a step back.

"You know," he said, his voice tense. "You don't even know what the fuck my name is, so I'd suggest getting your stories straight before treating somebody like shit."

"Am I wrong?" she challenged, her stomach twisting a little. It had been her experience the whole time she'd worked here - the plain girl who could mix drinks and put on a good act constantly training great-looking idiots to be more like her so they could take the really good shifts. Why should this time be any different?

"Billy knew my dad before he died." His voice had been so flat, April had almost shivered. She couldn't tell if he was still angry or not. "And my mom kicked me out last week, so Billy gave me a break."

Stunned, April opened her mouth to apologize. Roger held up the duotang. "Never mind. I've got this now, I won't have to bother you anymore."

He'd strode off, his boots echoing vacantly through the club. Just before he reached the door, he turned back around to look at her.

"By the way," he said unsmilingly, "my name's Roger."

"Roger." April leaned forward now, turning her hands around so she could grab onto one of his, lifting it to her face and placing his palm against her cheek. It was so warm and comforting. She wanted desperately for that to be enough. She let one hand slide away from his, lightly running it over the soft skin and hairs of the outside of his forearm, the taut lines of muscle he was starting to lose, and leaning her face into him as he supported her. She ignored everything but that skin, those hairs.

"Roger." His name again, as if it were a chant. She whispered like it could become one. "There's no one in the world who loves you as much as we do. For us. You can do this." She had to force herself to close her mouth, hearing her own words becoming more haphazard and senseless as they spilled from her. "Please."

His eyes were still hectically brilliant but they focused now, filled with something anguished and frantic and grounding. "I can't."

April closed her eyes. He'd said he couldn't stunt, had broken another bottle, he told her, and couldn't afford to try anymore if he wanted to eat. It didn't matter that he didn't need to, it wasn't necessary at all, he was still strangely focused on it. April still didn't know why she'd asked Billy that day when the new kid's next shift was.

To her surprise, she discovered that he'd been given one of the earlier ones. And at seven on the dot she'd gotten there, ignoring his surprised look and ducking under the flap to get behind the bar. The erratic ponytail that stuck out every which way from almost the top of her head got briefly caught - she pulled herself free with a quiet annoyed grunt and straightened, looking at Roger seriously.

He'd seemed surprised. "You."

"Me," she said easily, hands on her hips as she surveyed the area. "So. Not open yet. You wanna try a flip again?"

Roger had protested, but she'd insisted. Tips had been good and they would get even better if the new guy could do anything impressive. And four deafening and sparkling crashes later he did it.

"There," she said, pleased, swiping some hair that had fallen forward into her face back before crouching to begin cleaning. "You did good."

"You look pretty," he'd blurted, out of nowhere it seemed to April, and she'd felt a flush creeping up her cheeks.

"Yeah, well, to work here ..." She trailed off uneasily, looking up and watching his open and unreadable expression. He had beautiful eyes. He was beautiful all over, really. "Put on a short skirt and my docs and some glitter, and I'm almost presentable."

He'd shaken his head, eyes cast down with a smile playing over his lips.

"...What?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes.

"You're beautiful," he said simply.

April opened her eyes, but she couldn't look at him. She stood. "Then I have to go."

She'd barely taken a step when she felt Roger's hand grasping at the material of her jeans. She looked down to see him looking up at her, his mouth tight and his eyes looking -

She looked away. But after a moment she turned back to him and felt him loosen his grip on her. She dropped to crouch beside him, reaching out and running her hands over his head, fingernails raking through his short hair. Sliding her hands around, she could feel that the skin of Roger's scalp was too warm, could feel the cool little beads of sweat popping up underneath her fingers. She grasped Roger's face, pulling him close and finally finding the courage to look in his eyes. He looked like he was breaking.

"Baby," she murmured softly, searching his face, wishing she knew she was only seeing him and nothing else. That she knew exactly what was Roger and what wasn't. She was sure, if he wasn't sick or high or both right now, Roger would be able to see the shape of her heart pounding against the material of her shirt. "You're trying to hold on to two things here. Something has to give." She paused, her fingers tightening slightly. "What's it going to be?"

His eyes glistened. But it was different now, she could tell by the choked, frightened way he spoke. "I don't know how to stop."

April tried to not let it show, but somehow a tiny, wild kind of sound escaped her lips as she leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his in a soft lingering kiss. She sniffed loudly as she pulled away.

"Then I'm sorry," she said, looking at him for one last drawn-out moment before placing her hands on her knees for leverage and standing. She didn't look back as she walked towards the door.

"April!"

Shoulders tense, she turned back.

He was still crouching, he just turned slightly so he could see her. "I - it really isn't that big of a deal," he pleaded. "If you just tried it, you'd see - "

April could feel her face harden. "How could - you know I'm not into that shit. You know." She breathed a dark, disbelieving laugh. "This is such a fucking nightmare."

She hadn't meant to reveal anything, but she could sense the way Mark's head swivelled to look at her. She fought for control as she waited for Roger to speak again.

A brief moment of anger darkened his features. "Oh, that's right. You just fuck around."

"... That's not fair, Roger." Tears suddenly pricked at her eyes. "I haven't even looked at another guy since we got together."

Since before that. Since that night you met me after work and offered to help clean up. Since we bumped into each other and you ended up kissing me. And I had no idea how you felt, but I knew. I knew, right then. And I waited.

Roger deflated, turning back to the couch. When he spoke, it sounded like his teeth were clenched. "Don't do this."

"I'm sorry." April bit her lip, looking to the ceiling. Suddenly she had to bring up her palms and shove the bottoms of them into her eyes for a moment. "Call me, if ..."

She let her voice trail off, eventually walking towards the door again. She opened it, but turned back when she heard his voice.

"April!" Mark called out as he stepped forward, reaching out a helpless arm. "April, I ..."

"I'll be fine, Mark," she promised. "I'll call," she said, her voice falling flat, the promises obvious in their insincerity.

She had been so surprised at how Roger had suddenly, almost clumsily lunged forward, pressing his mouth hard to hers, she hadn't thought about her reaction. She'd thrown her arms around him, kissing back immediately, shocked at her own lack of reserve, especially with someone from work. As they kissed, all April could think was that Roger tasted like air. It had taken two weeks for her to realize that they couldn't live without each other. April didn't know how long it had taken for Roger to realize. Maybe he never had.

She took one last look at him now. He was still crouching there, his hands grasping the couch and his head bowed. April swallowed again and then stepped out the door, closing it behind her. As soon as it shut she took a gasping breath, leaning her back against it for support. She looked up at the ceiling, eyes wet, and thought of all the movies Mark had shown her those nights Collins had brought prints home for them. How they showed time jumping forward; a montage of bridging shots as a flash-forward, to keep the story going but skip all the extraneous stuff. A fade to black between that and the next action.

Standing with her head against the door of the loft, her chest burning, April almost felt like she could hear the soundtrack. One of Roger's darker songs. This was just a scene to push things forward, and if the montage wasn't too long maybe she wouldn't have to hurt for too long. Fade to black.

She wondered what her next scene would bring.

- - - - - - - - - -

Even when Roger wasn't there, he was always there.

April couldn't get away from him. Sleeping - and dreaming - wasn't even the worst of it. Because in dreaming it felt as if she had someone else to blame; she could curse her subconscious for making her think of him and making her hurt.

But when it was just her, when she was simply walking down the street or lying in bed or calling in sick for shifts of work just so she wouldn't have to see him, those times she had no one to blame but April. And she hated herself for it. That she would call in sick to work, that she would have less money and more thinking time and, worst of all, that she would let herself down like that - it all made her sick with something like shame.

But it was so hard.

Even knowing that it was for the best, that she couldn't be around all the shit that Roger had gotten himself into (that he was, she corrected herself, she just hadn't seen it), it was so hard that sometimes she couldn't breathe. Those were the times she would pick up the phone and dial. She never let it ring more than once, hanging up before anyone could answer. She missed Mark and Collins, too. Sometimes before bed she would let herself imagine just walking back in and having a movie night with Mark and Collins, all the lights off, and quietly climbing into Roger's bed afterwards, listening to the deep breathing of his sleep.

In reality she had to keep putting one foot in front of the other and occasionally stopped in front of flyers for the latest Well Hungarians show that seemed to pop up wherever she went. And after two weeks of supposed illness that conveniently only hit once a week (though, really, wasn't she ill? It wasn't anything that could be diagnosed, but taking Roger away was like suffering lack of oxygen ...) April knew she had to go to work that Thursday. The same night Roger worked. He was always coming on as she left.

On Wednesday she decided to go in early and talk to Billy. He was big and imposing which made him a bitch of a boss when you wanted a raise but came in really handy whenever some random guy got too pushy. When April knocked on the door of his office and he looked up, a frown on his face until he realized who it was, she thought it looked like he could burst right out of his clothes. April knew Billy loved her, and that made flaking out the way she'd been doing even harder to face.

"Billy? You got a minute?"

He grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Sure, baby girl. What's up?"

April wasn't used to feeling this shy around him, not after almost a year of working here. But she realized she was still standing rigidly in the doorway, clasping her hands in front of her stomach.

"It's about tomorrow," she said, wondering how best to put this and just what the hell she was doing, anyway. She was sure that when she'd left the apartment early that this hadn't been her intention. "I was wondering if I could switch days, take a different shift, I - "

Billy silently held up a hand, and April stopped, waiting. After a second he locked eyes with her, his gaze serious.

"Roger's not working tomorrow, if that's what this is about."

It felt like he'd punched her. As if she wasn't having enough trouble breathing already. "What?"

"He's got a gig on Friday," Billy explained, his eyes looking soft. "It looks like it could become regular and he wanted Thursdays for rehearsals. Asked me if he could switch to Tuesdays." He shrugged. "So I juggled the schedule. But if you really need it, I can do it again - "

"No," April interrupted faintly, thinking. "No, I - I changed my mind."

" ... You okay, April? You need anything?"

She stared, still trying to process this new information. Roger had switched shifts. Because he wanted more rehearsal time.

Like hell you did, you fucking coward.

Never mind she had just been on the verge of doing the exact same thing.

"No," she answered Billy finally, her voice stronger now. "You were right, I'm sorry, it was because of Roger. So I'm good now."

Billy gave her one of the appraising glances that always reminded her of her father. "You get to work, then," he said. "And just come get me if you need anything, okay?"

April nodded. And wondered how many hearts she had broken when she'd made a similar offer that she could never deliver on.

- - - - - - - - - -

April had come incredibly close to walking out on their first official date when she found out Roger was in a fucking band. April loved music, it was part of why she'd tried finding work in a club to begin with, but she hated bands and all the reeking bullshit that seemed almost compulsory and hung over every musician she'd ended up meeting. She liked listening to musicians play - she didn't date them.

"Yeah, I sing lead," Roger had said, confused at her tone and look when she'd asked him to confirm that he was actually in a band. He must've nearly had a heart attack when she'd stood so abruptly.

"Bye," she said simply, and started to turn, but then realized that there was a hand clasped over her wrist.

"Hey." Roger's voice, she remembered, was soothing, and nothing like all the fears that emerged with that little bit of information. And just how the fuck had he hidden the fact that he was a junkie so well, anyway? It fucking pissed her off now, remembering, seeing how stupid she had been and all the moments of escape that had passed her by before things got too deep, before he was too capable of tearing her to shreds.

She'd taken a deep breath, and looked back at him. There was this disarming, crooked grin on his face, and it reminded her just how young he was.

"I'm not used to that reaction," he'd said quietly; and then that false bravado had surfaced again. "Chicks are usually all over me when they realize."

April rolled her eyes, trying to yank her hand away. "Jesus."

He hadn't let her go. Maybe that had been the moment. When he'd realized.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, the grin gone now. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry."

There was a long pause where they just froze, Roger's hand warm and tight on her wrist. She looked up and could see one of the waiters staring at her, and she'd realized afresh that there was no way in hell this kid could afford this place. She slowly sat down.

After a moment, he let his hand loosen, taking his time in letting his fingertips slip down over her wrist, her hand, feather touches on her skin. Once they were no longer touching, he leaned back in his chair, looking more relaxed.

"So I guess I get another chance," he smiled.

- - - - - - - - - -

There was nothing lonelier than waking up in her sister's apartment again and making coffee by herself, staring out over the room and wondering what to do until work.

It wasn't so much that the loft had had constant motion or activity - but constant Roger or Mark or Collins or Benny, the constant feel of someone somewhere near and a kind of vague consciousness of another person's breath. It was always enough to keep her from thinking, something April needed and even with her sister here - the air seemed scarce.

"You're an idiot, you know," Lori said briskly, rinsing out her pale green coffee mug in the sink and setting it on the counter to dry, turning to April as she grabbed up the dishtowel and dried her hands. "It's pathetic."

April bristled. She hadn't lived at the loft; her stuff stayed here for the most part and any night of the week she could have come here to sleep. But she'd never wanted to. Her sister was overbearing and bossy. And worked at a bank. This, plus some help from their mother, helped them keep this crap little apartment.

It had heat; she would rather be in blankets at the loft.

April shook herself roughly. Not anymore.

Lori was still talking, the word moping being thrown around, her voice droning through the small space and giving April the nervousness in her hands that made her want to lash out. Suddenly the violence passed and April focused.

"... stupid, to let a guy control you like this ..."

She stood from the table fast, her chair almost falling behind her. As it was, its metal legs clanged loudly against the hard floor.

"He doesn't control me," she answered, disgusted, not even wanting to look at her sister, sick of her, sick of everything. "I love him, and if you don't get that, fuck you."

They stared at each other a long, silent moment. Then Lori shrugged, looking just as disgusted as April felt.

"He's not worth it," she said sharply, then turned. "I'll probably be home late."

April wanted to speak through clenched teeth, a lingering period after every word. She wanted to tell this woman who thought she knew so much that she knew nothing, that she knew only the tip of Roger and she could never, ever, know just how special he really was, what he could do ...

And what he did. April hadn't told anyone that, either.

The moment the door slammed behind Lori, April dropped down onto the couch, reaching out to turn off one of the two lamps in the room, making the room darker and more acceptable. It was cold out; the window was dark, and the only light spilling in was gray. It was going to storm, any minute now.

April suddenly burst into tears, the loneliness overwhelming her. She curled up, hugging her knees as she sobbed, the pink-tinged light from the lamp covered in a cheap pink scarf mingling with the gray and looking like dirty movie blood as it spilled over everything. After a few minutes, sniffing and trying to control herself, April sat up a little straighter, tears still streaming down her face, and reached for the phone.

- - - - - - - - - -

"So this is your place."

Roger had circled slowly, taking everything in. She'd been staying at the loft plenty, but she'd never brought him here. She felt guilty, as if at any moment Lori would burst through the door and smack her wrist with a ruler when she found she'd brought a boy home. An eighteen-year-old, at that.

"Yeah." April pulled her boots off, noticing the questioning look Roger gave her before he returned to her side, pulling off his own shoes now. April couldn't help but smile.

"You don't have to do that," she told him, and he grinned. Then his eyes shifted and lit up, taking in something behind her. He slipped past, and she turned to see where he was going.

"Hey," he said, sounding pleased, as he reached the back of the room. "You play?"

She'd managed to bite back the wince. "No. That ... well, it's my sister's now. It used to be my dad's."

Roger walked back over to her, a serious look on his face. "Oh."

April rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't get a hard-on all like you know me or something, kid."

After that first kiss, April had taken to referring to Roger as 'kid' in her head, to remind herself of just how bad an idea all this really was. And after a while she'd started calling him that to his face whenever he pissed her off, or was being a little too cute and knew it.

Eyes sparkling, Roger had strode over and gotten her in his arms. He kissed her deeply, and before she knew it her hands were tangled in his hair, tugging him closer. He pulled away, grinning.

"I'll cure you of this calling me 'kid' thing, you know." He kissed her again, quickly. "One way or another."

April got her arms around him, crushing her face against his chest. " ... I think you already might have."

After a moment of silence, she felt Roger reach around and grab her arms, pulling her away from him and then towards the couch. April raised her eyebrows.

"I didn't realize you meant right now."

He'd laughed, and then sat on the couch, pulling her down beside him and arranging them both so she was between his raised knees as he leaned against the back of the couch, his arms wrapped around her waist.

"I will whenever you want," he whispered in her ear, and April snorted.

"Yeah, I know you will."

They sat for a moment in comfortable silence. April could feel Roger's chin resting on her shoulder. He suddenly nosed at her ponytail, exhaling onto her head. April giggled.

"The fuck are you doing?"

"Why do you always put your hair like that?"

She shifted slightly, leaning more heavily against him. This could be nice, if it weren't for the fear of Lori getting home. Maybe she could kick her out someday and then she and Roger could come live here. He'd quit the drugs, soon enough, she knew he would. And then things could really be perfect.

"It's easy," she said, forgetting about Lori in her daydream and starting to breathe more easily. "You know, it doesn't get in my face, I don't have to fuck around with it, no fuss."

Roger never answered, replacing his chin on her shoulder and falling silent again. After a few minutes she felt his face shift, getting closer to her ear.

"I love you," he said quietly, and April had closed her eyes. No going back now.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

- - - - - - - - - -

"So this is your place. It's nice."

After getting her near-hysterical phone call, Mark had gotten here within a half hour. She'd known he would.

"Yeah," April said wearily from the couch, leaning against its arm and cradling her head in her hand. "It's not home, though."

Mark looked at her sympathetically, and it almost started her crying again. And where had that come from, anyway? She hadn't even realized she was about to do it. "We miss you, you know."

"Yeah," April said again, looking away. After a moment, she felt Mark's weight join her on the couch.

"How is he?" Then she looked at him, panicked. "No, wait. I don't want to know."

Mark was quiet for a minute, then he cleared his throat slightly. "I ... I know it's hard for you."

She smiled at him, a little. "I know."

Mark was sitting close and April had to fight the impulse to lean over and onto him. She wasn't even fully sure why she was fighting it; she knew Mark would comfort her the second she asked. But something held her back and they sat there in silence.

When she finally spoke, the noise sounded abrupt and too loud, ringing through the apartment. "I don't know if I can live without him."

Mark looked like he was the one in pain. "Here. C'mere."

He lifted his arm and she fell under it, leaning against his body and wrapping her arms around him, curling under that protective arm as it tightened around her. It felt good. And he smelled good. The loft had a cold smell, like wind, a scent that had always clung to Roger. Mark smelled that way now. Like a million other things - but like that, too.

It seemed completely natural, to lean up after a moment and press her lips against Mark's. And it must have felt natural for him, too, because he kissed her back after a moment of hesitation, his lips soft. But she sighed, this tiny little noise, and it was enough to make Mark break away.

"April." It was more a groan than anything; a warning edged with frustration. He shifted to put more space between their bodies. "We can't - this isn't right."

She was just as surprised as Mark was when tears popped into her eyes. Again. "I know."

His face twisted. "Fuck. Oh, April ..." His voice was just a murmur as he reached over and pulled her against him again. He started stroking her hair, and April took some comfort in it, even as she could feel the exasperation, the unsaid this is wrong.

"Did Roger tell you? About my dad?" April asked, and immediately hated herself for it. She understood the desperation and manipulation. So at the first sign of stress and loneliness she brought it out like a fucking playing card instead of keeping it to herself. How long had it taken for her to tell Roger? And now she was blurting it out to Mark like it was nothing, just because she didn't want him to leave.

There was a long pause before he answered. "No. He - he never mentioned it."

April smiled, one half of her mouth curling upward. "Liar."

After a moment, she sighed lightly. "I - alcoholic. Died when I was fifteen. Made my mom's life ... well, all our lives. Hell. And he died." She pulled away, enough to look at Mark. "You wanna remind him of that for me?"

Mark's lips were thin. "Yeah. I'll tell him that, if you want me to."

"Not like it'll go any good ..." April mumbled to herself. It wasn't like Roger didn't know. It just hadn't mattered ...

She put a hand on Mark's chest. "Look ... I - will you come back? Just, whenever you could, you don't have to," she hurried to add, Mark's body stiffening beside her.

"April ..." There was that tone again. April wanted to bury her head in Mark's chest so she wouldn't hear it. He was good at that, making things go away for a while. "I don't know ... Roger ... and Maureen ..."

"Maureen?" April struggled to sit up, unsure as to why she was arguing; why this upset her in the first place. "You've got to be kidding me, you guys just started dating!"

He looked down at her strangely. "What are we talking about here?"

"I don't know," April said quickly, feeling herself flush. "I - I just didn't know ..."

He watched her a moment more before looking away. "She might move in."

"What?" Her voice came out much higher than she'd expected. She was glad when Mark smiled.

"Yeah."

It took a moment to process this. "What does Collins think of this?"

"He likes her," Mark said simply.

April clenched her teeth, biting past the pain. "Roger?"

It almost startled her, when Mark laughed. "He hates her."

After that they lapsed into silence again, and it didn't take long for April to bring herself closer to Mark again. She had no idea why she disliked the thought of Maureen living in the loft so strongly. Jealousy, certainly. That was her loft - no one else should be there if she couldn't be ...

Shifting, April pressed her ear to Mark's chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart. Maureen wouldn't last. She was over the top and she breezed through everything, never sitting long enough to take a breath, it seemed. And Mark wasn't a breezing kind of guy. He stood still.

"Just - just come over every once in a while, okay?" She leaned up, kissing the curve of his jaw, breaking away again before he could protest. And then found herself kissing him on the lips again, quickly, keeping her eyes open. When she pulled away, it was enough. But not too far. Somehow this was the most at home she'd felt in ages. "Please? Promise?"

Mark drew her close to his side again, and April didn't know if it was because he wanted her closer or if he didn't want her to see his face.

"I promise," he said finally.

- - - - - - - - - -

Every time she walked into work now she expected to see Roger, and she remembered every time. She'd somehow been able to make herself believe, before that, that things really would be okay. That she wasn't just living in some self-delusional dreamworld.

She'd gotten to work, and Mark had been there, looking nervous as he stood at the bar. Maureen was nowhere to be found, and it was weird, Mark just standing there, not dancing or anything, looking - did he look scared?

He'd caught her eye, then, and hurried over and grabbed her arm, steering her right back out the door she'd just entered.

"The fuck - ?"

"It's fine, I talked to Billy," Mark said hurriedly, never breaking stride as he pulled on her. "You need to come home."

"Wait, what?" She'd been at the apartment, the night before she'd been pissed at Roger and he'd been pissed at her so she'd went back there to sleep for the night.

Mark glanced at her, then stared ahead again. "He - I - Collins thinks Roger might've overdosed."

She'd hissed in a violent breath, and suddenly she was the one pulling on Mark.

"It's okay," he tried to reassure her, his voice low, but she barely heard him. "He's conscious, he just - he - we thought he stopped breathing, but he didn't, it was just ... Collins - Collins is with him right now, I came down because Roger - he was asking for you ..."

"Shut up, Mark," April said, a little frantically. "It's not okay, you're as scared shitless as I am, so just shut up."

They hurried in silence the rest of the way, a silence April broke only once they were heading up the stairs of the building. "Should we take him to the hospital?"

Mark shook his head, tense. "No. They might - "

April clenched her jaw. "They can throw him away for a fucking decade, I really don't give a shit. If he ..."

They were silent again, Mark hauling open the door when they reached it and April pushing past him, practically sprinting for Roger's room. He was stretched out on his bed, his face pale and lips looking blue. Collins was sitting on the floor beside him, and looked up when April came in.

"What do you think? Hospital?" he asked immediately, and April could hear Mark make a frustrated noise behind her.

"I'm fine," Roger said weakly, and April's attention was taken away from everything else for a moment. She kneeled beside Collins, taking Roger's hand in both of hers and leaning over so her face was near his.

"What the fuck, baby?" she said, hearing the tremor in her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Collins turn his face away.

"I think I got some bad shit," Roger mumbled, then grimaced. "Motherfuckers."

April looked to Collins, overwhelmed and helpless. "What do you think?"

His mouth was set. "Fuckin' idiot," he muttered, his hands clenched in his lap. His eyes met hers. "We wait, I guess. See if he gets any worse ..."

Her lips felt cold. "What happened?"

Collins shook his head. "I came home, he was puking his guts up in the bathroom. I came back to check on him, and he was on the floor ..."

"But he was breathing, right?" April asked, feeling sick. Sick, and angry that she even had to ask these questions.

"Yeah." Collins nodded. "Slow, but breathing."

"Goddammit." There was no notion of control; her head fell forward, her chin to her chest. After a few deep breaths, she was able to look up again and reached forward with one hand, putting it on Roger's face.

"What is it gonna take?" She felt like shaking him.

"What the hell is gonna scare you enough?"

- - - - - - - - - -

They almost hadn't let her into the club - if Mark hadn't come out to check on her she might not have even gotten in.

It had been a bad week - on top of missing Roger, she had to keep being reminded of him. Billy had voiced his concern at work, and April had come uncomfortably close to telling him it was none of her fucking business anymore and to talk to Roger if he was so goddamned worried about his budding musical career.

But then she would have been out of a job. She'd managed to keep her mouth shut.

And then last night, Mark calling, and at first she'd almost been happy. Hearing his voice. But then the name came through the phone line, and Mark asking her to come to the show, because he was worried - the night before he'd been coming on as another band left and the drummer had asked how April was.

"What?" It was bizarre. Who the fuck knew her and Roger?

"I don't know," Mark had answered, his voice sounding tired. "But he knew your name and he'd seen Roger around. He made it seem like - "

"Yeah, I bet he did," April said, pissed. It was a good thing Lori wasn't home - bones could have very well been broken in a mood like this.

"Well, Roger just went fucking batshit. He beat the guy to a pulp."

April stopped, all her anger fading. "What? That's not like him."

"I know." Mark's voice was still quiet. "He won't talk to me, but something's wrong - "

"He's a fucking junkie asshole, that's what's wrong with him," April burst out, suddenly furious again. Goddammit, why hadn't she seen the signs? Why hadn't she asked? Tossing bottles in the air with him, just ask what his drug of choice was ...

"No." That quietness was eerie. April almost wanted to bark at him to speak up. "There's - I don't know. He doesn't seem right. And he's using more since ..." He stopped. "He should go to a doctor or something, get help, but he won't listen to me."

April laughed, an exhausted little push of breath. "You know he doesn't listen to me."

"He might now." He paused. "He - he misses you. He might - "

"He won't." She wondered if he was thinking of his visits to the apartment, the few times he'd actually shown up. The one movie they'd watched on Lori's TV. The few kisses that both of them probably wouldn't let themselves think about too much ...

"Try." Mark's voice was stronger. "He needs you to try."

Fuck.

"Fine."

And now she was here, Mark towing her into the dark club, Roger onstage, the music pounding out painfully. April's heart clutched - she didn't want to hear this song. Any of them.

Conversation was impossible - Mark had suggested converging on Roger right after the show - she didn't want to see him at the loft. Every option was bad, every one hurt, but somehow this wasn't so personal. It felt less close and less like home.

Wishing there was a clock somewhere, or enough light to read her watch, April almost didn't notice the loss of music, Mark stiffening beside her. Then she looked up and realized the band was leaving the stage. And she looked up in time to catch the end of Roger's fall as he stumbled off the stage and into the audience crowded around the stage.

April dimly realized that Mark was gone, already shoving through the people to get to Roger, but her body felt frozen, stone. She was horrified; it didn't matter that she'd heard from two different sources that something was really wrong, that things were changing. It took seeing Roger falling off the stage - that he would fuck up a show like that ...

April swallowed, trying to ignore the fear threatening to take her breath. She stood on her tiptoes, watching Mark lifting Roger, Roger hanging over Mark's shoulder almost limply. Suddenly Mark looked around, and was obviously looking for her because when his eyes meet hers he stops. This sick sense of dread oozes through her and she knows things just aren't going to be easy. She knows a lot, right then. The walls could be crumbling, there's such a thick sense of destruction in the air.

April looked up to the ceiling, tears pricking at her eyes and desperately trying to swallow them back. The ceiling was good. She didn't want to look at Mark, and she didn't want to look at Roger. She didn't want to look at any of it. Maybe that way she would never have to face it.

Fade to black.